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“Well, peace be with you, sir. Here comes my man.” said Tybalt, turning away from Mercutio and Benvolio to turn to Romeo Montague. The man he hated so dearly– the man Tybalt wanted dead.
“But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery!” Mercutio retorted, “Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; your worship, in that sense, may call him ‘man.’”
Tybalt fought back a scowl. Mercutio was indeed insufferable– but he wasn't here for him, Tybalt had more important matters to take care of.
“Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford no better term than this: thou art a villain.” He insulted, staring daggers into the man he was speaking to.
Romeo smiled. Wait– why was he smiling? He had no reason to smile, Tybalt was here to kill him! Tybalt felt confused– though he tried not to show it.
“Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee doth much excuse the appertaining rage to such a greeting. Villain am I none. Therefore farewell; I see thou knowest me not.” Romeo said, turning away.
Love? Love? Ha! That was a lie, a distraction– it had to be! Perhaps Romeo was being a coward– trying to talk himself out of a fight. That would not be tolerated. Tybalt would not allow himself to be ridiculed by a Montague such as Romeo.
“Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries that thou hast done me. Therefore turn and draw.” Tybalt hissed, his hand on the hilt of his rapier.
Romeo turned back with a sigh, “I do protest I never injured thee, but love thee better than thou canst devise till thou shalt know the reason of my love. And so, good Capulet — which name I tender as dearly as mine own — be satisfied.”
Every word said by Romeo at this moment felt like utter nonsense to Tybalt. This didn't make sense in the slightest– was Romeo mad? Had the man gone insane since Tybalt last saw him? Tybalt was leaning towards that theory– for Romeo was speaking to Tybalt like he was family or a close friend! He was far from that! He snapped out of his train of thought, his attention turning to…Mercutio? What did he want now? Mercutio was getting on his nerves quite a bit.
“O calm, dishonorable, vile submission! Alla stoccado carries it away.” Mercutio taunted, drawing his rapier, “Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?”
“What wouldst thou have with me?” asked Tybalt, trying to fight back the urge to rip Mercutio apart right there.
“Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives that I mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.” threatened Mercutio.
Fine– If Mercutio wanted a duel, he would get one. Montague or not– Mercutio brought this on himself, thought Tybalt.
“I am for you.” Tybalt scowled, drawing his rapier.
“Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.” insisted Romeo– his efforts were for nothing.
“Come, sir, your passado.” said Mercutio, and everything broke into chaos.
The next few seconds– minutes?– were a blur. Tybalt was more focused on fighting Mercutio than Romeo’s and Benvolio's shouting. Romeo was in a panic, trying to stop the fight. Tybalt heard small parts of the conversation, piece by piece.
“–beat down their weapons–Of course, Romeo and Benvolio tried to get involved–forbid this bandying in Verona streets–the prince? who cared about the law right now– this was a fight to the death!–Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio!”
Tybalt didn't expect Romeo to jump in between them– was he trying to get himself killed? Tybalt wasn't too bothered by the thought of Romeo´s death, but like this– what an embarrassing way to die. Tybalt shook the thought away– and in a moment of fury, his sword went under Romeo's arm, and straight for Mercutio.
Tybalt immediately pulled away, both Romeo and Benvolio rushing to Mercutio– he was bleeding. Tybalt stabbed Mercutio– it looked like a nasty wound. Would he die? No, surely he wouldn't– Tybalt would be sentenced to death if so. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to kill anyone– he just wanted to prove a point! Tybalt couldn't stay there, he couldn't. He stepped back, retreating from the scene.
That fool, Mercutio! If only he hadn't interrupted– if only he didn't try to get involved with something that didn't involve him! Tybalt would persist that Mercutio was at fault for his demise, but the blood was on Tybalt's hand. He had killed someone– murdered someone. Mercutio wasn´t even part of the Capulet-Montague rivalry. He hated Mercutio– loathed him– but he couldn't help but feel guilt. Mercutio wasn´t even the one he wanted dead, it was Romeo!
Tybalt paused, he didn't even lay a scratch on Romeo back there. All of that was in vain! Tybalt turned on his heel, walking back and making a grave mistake.
Tybalt returned– Mercutio wasn't there. Where was he? Did he flee as well? Benvolio saw Tybalt, notifying Romeo almost immediately.
¨Alive in triumph and Mercutio slain!¨ Wait…slain–was he dead? Sure, the wound was bad, but did Tybalt actually kill him? He…killed a man. It was Mercutio's own doing– was it? Mercutio was trying to defend Romeo, a friend to him. Mercutio was so close to the Montague household that he seemed like one himself! Mercutio wasn´t even a Montague– he was a relative of the Prince! The Prince. Oh dear, Tybalt would surely face death now. The blood was on his hands, it was his fault. He tried to focus on whatever Romeo was telling him– he may have missed the last few words. He wasn't here to mourn an enemy– he was here to kill one. Nothing would stop that.
¨Now, Tybalt, take the ‘villain’ back again, that late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul is but a little way above our heads, staying for thine to keep him company. Either thou or I, or both, must go with him.¨ said Romeo– challenging Tybalt.
¨Thou wretched boy, that didst consort him here, shalt with him hence.¨ said Tybalt, his rapier in his hand.
Tybalt was waiting for this. There may have been a small distraction, but he would finally be able to get what he came here for.
¨This shall determine that.¨ snapped Romeo, drawing his sword and dashing at Tybalt.
Tybalt stumbled back, his sword clashing with the other’s. Romeo's swings and moves seemed uncoordinated and rushed. It was quite obvious that he was upset– why wouldn't he be? Tybalt was the murderer of his best friend. Murderer? Was that what Tybalt was, a murderer; a killer? He was– he would plead and swear to his life that he wasn't – but it was true. The swords clashed again and again. Tybalt couldn´t get that stupid word out of his head. Murderer. He wasn't supposed to feel guilty, Mercutio deserved it. Did he? He did, He did! He was a fool, getting himself into a matter that wasn't his. Did Mercutio deserve a punishment such as death? He never meant to kill Mercutio, but he did kill him. Tybalt took it too far– and now he would face death. No matter who won this duel, Tybalt would die. He didn´t mean for it to go like this, he never meant for Mercutio to die. The blood was on his hands. It was Mercutio– he was the one to challenge Tybalt! Though Tybalt would pay the price–
Tybalt paused, dropping his sword to the ground. He looked down– oh. He was hit, though he could barely process that fact before he stumbled onto the ground. He probably deserved it, though he didn't want to admit that he lost to a Montague. He was going to die at the hands of a Montague. Now this, this, was an incredibly embarrassing way to die. He should've fought harder instead of getting distracted by his own crime. He should've seen this coming– for he would've died if he killed Romeo or not. There was Benvolio's voice again– but Tybalt could care less about what they were saying as he closed his eyes and fell limp, drifting into the darkness.